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Here is one story retold, albeit with a pithier ending:

From Kev:

Crazy woman at a gas station

What happened: So I pull up to my favorite gas station. A guy named Muhammed owns it and operates it. Nicest guy in the world. I once forgot my wallet and, because he turns the pumps on for me without me having to go in and prepay, I had the embarrasing encounter in which I had to go tell him I had to leave and get my wallet. He didn't care, he was like, "Just pay me back next time, my friend." So I payed him more than enough the next time I filled up. But that's not the story, just a character backround. Well, early to mid-2002 I had just got off a hard day's work at the local grocery store. (I was about 17 at the time) I filled my tank and walked toward the door to pay. Outside the door was this big, fat, Hutt-esque woman SCREECHING at me. "Don't buy gas from this man! He's unAmerican! He doesn't support the war!!!!" Just flipping out, causing a huge scene.

What I said: I just shrugged and said, "So." and walked past her, paid, and said to Muhammed "You'll have to excuse her, she's just a total waste of sperm and an egg."

What I SHOULD have said: I SHOULD have said, "Holy S***!!! Are you telling me that someone in the United States of America doesn't agree with their current government?! Oh my God, what the H*** is wrong with him? Doesn't he know that this country does not now, nor has it ever harbored dissent?! I mean, our founding fathers would never have wrote the constitution if they thought someone would use it to disagree with the ruling party! I mean, just because he probably has family in some of the places that are having the holy H*** bombed out of them doesn't mean that he should be any less than EXCITED that we're at war! That unAmerican SCUMBAG!!! Oh... and in case you don't understand sarcasm, lady, shut the f*** up. You are an idiot. Go home, eat a couple more pounds of pork rinds, and die. Please. Thank you."

on the stairs

L'esprit d'escalier

The French call it l'esprit d'escalier, "the wit of the staircase," those biting ripostes that are thought of just seconds too late, on the way out of the room-or even, to tell the truth, days later. It's happened to you: you've suddenly thought of just what would put your foe in his or her place, but past the time when the arrow could sting its victim. You've stewed in your own juice ever since, and the chance for singeing repartee is gone forever.

Or is it?

Dorothy Parker or Oscar Wilde may have had the rapier wit to tweak their tormentors on the spot, but for the rest of us, we offer the Internet's only L'esprit d'escalier web site!